Nightmares That Are Life
by subliminal shady
Summary: Johanna Mason won the Games two years ago. Now, she is ordered by Snow to prostitute herself. After the first night, she meets with other victors she knows she can trust and tells them the horrible truth... Find out how Johanna Mason had a child, and the father was a Capitolian. ON HIATUS CURRENTLY.
1. Chapter 1

**You may be thinking this sounds exactly like one of my other fanfics, Small Things. This is actually different. This takes place only in the Capitol, and never after the rebellion. It is only about the victors. And this is not a character tribute. Just wanted to clear things up, everyone. (By the way, this short paragraph before it changes to Johanna's POV isn't an every-chapter thing.) This is all in Johanna's POV.**

_**Prologue**_

In the Capitol, almost nothing is abnormal. There's hot pink wigs, there's a yearly, televised fight to the death. But the victors of that fight, the victors of the Hunger Games, never leave the arena the same as they went in.

Each year, the victors must mentor a new round of tributes as they take their turn at fighting for their lives. And every time, they are reminded of their own experiences.

What the Capitol finds abnormal is how every single night, at least one of the victors wakes up screaming their heads off. Stupid them. They know nothing, _nothing, _about how it feels to have left the arena alive. Even the victors themselves can't control that every night, one of them is screaming.

**JOHANNA MASON**

I didn't think that it would be so awful. Hearing the screams of my tributes ring in my head. But it is.

They were only twelve, damn it, both of them. Twelve, with skinny, starved bodies, huge eyes, and frizzy hair. They were enraptured with me, and I didn't like it. They actually looked up to me. They asked me all sorts of questions about how good I was at hand-to-hand combat, with an axe, at running. I grudgingly answered them. I admit it now, I got used to those kids running after my like a pair of puppies, saying that I was such a good fighter. I knew they would die in the fucking bloodbath. I guess I just didn't really accept it as the truth.

But now, fifteen minutes into the Games, both Pansy and Thorn are dead and gone. I keep seeing, in my mind, the axe sinking into Thorn's head. In another part of my mind, I hear him telling me that I'm perfect when it comes to axes, and I feel like I'm going to be sick. In my mind, I see Pansy stepping off her metal plate two seconds early and getting blown to bits, showering the other tributes in flesh. In the other half of my brain, I see her telling Caesar that she would be very precise in the arena and plan everything carefully, and that she would make it past the bloodbath. She said this all dressed in a light pink dress, swinging her legs because she was so small they couldn't touch the stage from her chair.

I slip down the wall of the elevator until I'm sitting in the corner, curled into a ball, helpless, until it reaches the floor for District Four. An elderly woman steps into the elevator. She has tan, wrinkled skin, and snow-white hair. She has surprisingly sharp eyesight and sees me right away.

"Why are you looking so sad, Johanna?" she asks soothingly. Then she checks her watch and swears. "Oh, you poor thing. I realize now, the Games started a bit ago. Let me guess, your tributes are dead." I nod. I don't want to open my mouth for fear of getting sick. "Why don't you come to the bar downstairs with me?" she asks. "All the victors that aren't mentoring right now are there." When I don't respond, she pulls me into a standing position. Her bony arms are surprisingly strong. I now realize who she is. Mags, one of the District Four victors. She presses the button for the lobby and we shoot downward once more.

When we get to the bar, I only recognize a few people from my two years as a mentor. Chaff and Seeder, both of District Eleven. Brutus and Lyme, both of District Two. Beetee and Wiress, both of District Three. Blight, from my District, Seven. Cecilia of District Eight. They don't look surprised to see me. I pull up a barstool and sit between Mags and Chaff. I order the most alcoholic drink I can think of off the top of my head. In seconds, I'm served by an Avox. I take a gulp of the liquor, loving my familiar fire. Mags stares at me a bit disapprovingly. I shrug at her and take another gulp. I feel like I'm being stared at. It takes me a few second to realize that Chaff is literally staring down my strapless shirt. I turn a little red. Mags notices.

"Chaff, she's only been a victor two years," she says. "She doesn't want you staring at her."

"I don't care," I say, surprising myself. It must be the alcohol, because I pull down my shirt even more than it is already and take another drink. Chaff guffaws and thumps me on the back.

"So, Johanna. That's your name, right, girl?" says Chaff. I nod. "Has Snow told you that you're going to have to prostitute yourself?" He says this so matter-of-a-factly that I cough and end up spitting liquor across the bar at the Avoxes.

"Yeah," I say with a burning throat. "He told me. I'm not the only one?" Brutus, who has only just joined us, chuckles.

"No way in hell," he says. "All of us have to sell ourselves. Until we get too old, like Mags here." He nudges Mags so hard she nearly falls off her stool.

"Like Chaff was probably about to say," says Lyme, grinning at me in a mean way, "since you're not mentoring, you're going to be in for a rough few weeks." I groan, and finish off my drink. It's replaced with a new glass immediately. "Yeah, poor you. Too bad you're not from a Career district. Then you'd only have to get fucked about five times." I scowl at her and drink some more.

"Leave the girl alone," says a gruff voice behind me. I recognize the voice as Haymitch Abernathy, the only victor from District Twelve. "Well? You should all be saying sorry now, because Mason here has two 'appointments' tonight." Shit. I down the rest of my drink. "They need you in Remake, Mason."

"I don't care," I say. "I don't want to get fucked by a Capitol bastard."

"Too bad," says Haymitch. "You have to. Let's go." I get up and follow him. Hours later, after I am remade, I stalk to the car sitting outside the Training Center, slam the door, and dread what my destination is.

The whole time, I worry that I might get knocked up. I worry that I'm going to get in trouble for not getting in that bed willingly. I worry that I'm going to die.

The next time isn't that much later, and it's even worse. My 'lover' hits me, claws at me, and bruises me. When it's over, I pull on the dress I was wearing, flip off my 'lover', and walk out to his cries of indignation.

I crawl into my own bed alone that night, in District Seven's floor, feeling utterly, hopelessly alone. I didn't feel like wearing anything, so I sleep stark naked. I can't fall asleep for around half an hour. When I do, it's a troubled sleep.

_"Johanna, when I grow up, I want to be just like you!" says Pansy happily, following me to our dining area. "I want to be good with axes like you! Will you train me?" Her eyes are so hopeful that she's going to live a long life that I give in. _

_"Sure, Pansy," I say. I realize we're going the wrong way. "Where are we?" I ask myself. _

_"Where we eat!" Pansy answers, even though I'm not talking to her. _

_"Dammit," I hiss. Now I feel really stupid. I'm supposed to be telling Pansy about her interview approach. _

_"It's all right," she says. "You're still the best mentor ever. Why don't we just sit here?" She points at our dining table. I open my mouth to object, but then I wonder, _why the hell not?

_"All right," I say. "You're very smart. And practical. Play that up, all right?" _

_"Of course I will!" says Pansy, smiling at me. "And then I'll make it past the bloodbath! Remember, when I'm a victor, you're training me."_

_"How could I forget?" I ask. _

I wake up falling out of my bed and flat on my back. Screaming something wordless about the Hunger Games and sick, twisted Capitol fuckers, I stagger to my feet. My stomach lurches violently and I hightail it to the bathroom, hand clapped over my mouth. When I drink, I always get sick afterward. But this is worse. I sit in front of the toilet for the next half hour, because I can't stop the vomiting. When I'm feeling slightly better, I take a shower and put on clean clothes. I lie on my bed, miserable.

All I can hear is, _Johanna, when I grow up, I want to be just like you!_

_Believe me, Pansy,_ I think, even though she's dead, _you don't want to be anything like me._


	2. Chapter 2

**So, yeah. Here I am again. I've been doing a lot of writing lately, haven't I? This is still the morning after Johanna has sex with two people. Do you think I should've rated this M, or should I leave it at T? Because it gets worse. If you're a younger reader, keep your maturity here. _Seriously_. I tell things like they are. I'm trying not to sugarcoat too much.**

* * *

At some point, around noon, I finally get hungry. I stumble out of my room, rubbing my eyes. It's later than I thought. Not noon, but around three-thirty. I must have fallen asleep at some point. Oh well, I can still get a late lunch. I collapse in my chair, exhausted. An equally unhappy Avox serves me a plate of chicken and rice. It smells sickening to me because of my horrible hangover. But I think of the thirteen tributes that still live, starving in the arena. I should be glad I have food. I eat about half the portion before I feel too sick to continue.

Against my better judgement, I walk down to the bar. I pull up a barstool by Mags, Chaff, and some other victor and slump onto the bar. Concerned, Mags taps my arm. I raise my head slightly.

"What?" I ask tiredly. "What did you expect?" Mags knows that this is a rhetorical question.

"Johanna... don't worry," says a quiet male voice to my right. I turn and see Finnick Odair, a District Four victor. He has gorgeous bronze-colored hair, golden-tan skin, and sea green eyes. He won two years before I did, though he was only fourteen, and I was seventeen. "Everyone here knows what it feels like. It's harder if it's your first time ever, though."

"No," I say automatically. I don't like lying, so the words pop out of my mouth. "It wasn't my first time." Chaff, always trying to lighten the mood, laughs.

"Course it wasn't," he says, putting his stump of an arm over my shoulders. "You're a pretty thing. I bet you had the boys lined up at your bedside." Haymitch, Chaff, and Brutus laugh their heads off.

"Shut up," I snap, grabbing a bottle of liquor. "You don't know the half of it." I can feel tears welling in my eyes, and of course, Lyme has to tease me about it.

"Oh, look at _her! _Haymitch, you've made her cry!" Lyme says, grinning evilly at me. That's when I lose it.

"Fuck you!" I yell at the whole bar. "I thought you'd know what it's like, but I guess I was wrong!" I take my liquor and storm off to the District Seven floor. I find myself sitting on my bed again, sobbing. I hate them. I hate them all. Not one person on the planet understands me even the slightest bit.

When I am able to stop crying, I look up. I nearly jump, because I wasn't expecting people to be standing in my doorway. But there they are. Mags, Chaff, Haymitch, Seeder, Cecelia, Blight, Finnick, Wiress, and Beetee. Without asking me at all, they come in and sit next to me, all of them. My bed creaks.

"It's all right, Johanna," says Seeder in her quiet voice. "You can talk to us. No bitchy Careers around." That startles me. Seeder never swears, ever. She smiles at my shock.

"Of course, she will be all right," says Beetee. "Only one person out of a thousand dies from this. That is to say, being injured while selling your body. And we don't even have a hundred victors." Trust Beetee to say some sort of calculation at this time.

"This happened to every one of us," says Finnick reassuringly. "We're all fine. You will be, too."

One by one, every victor tries to soothe me. Wiress says, "If you stop drinking, it will get..." and trails off.

"Better," Beetee finishes.

Cecelia tells me that it gets better quickly. The first few are the worst. Blight says that I be fine after the hangover wears off. Chaff tells me that he doesn't doubt that I'd kill one of those Capitol fuckers right away. Mags strokes my hair and tells me that I'm strong and I'll get through this. But what prompts me to tell the truth is Haymitch. He says nothing, just lets me lean against him. He puts an arm around my shoulders, and I don't even care that he smells like liquor. His gesture of kindness is so fatherly that I can't help but tell the truth.

"I'm not going to be fine," I say quietly. Everyone starts saying that of _course, _I will be, but I stop them. "I don't care what you're saying. I'm not going to be fine."

"Why ever not?" asks Chaff, mimicking Caesar Flickerman's catchphrase. I scowl at him. Then my expression turns serious once more as I begin to remember the details of last night.

"The second one hit me and clawed at me," I say, stripping off my shirt so they can see the marks. I put it back on. "And the first one..." My throat closes up. I don't want to say this in front of a crowd of victors, but I force myself to. "The first one didn't care about things like trying to make sure I didn't get pregnant."

For a moment, silence. Then Finnick says, "Oh, hell no" and then it's silent again until Wiress speaks up.

"You probably aren't..." And as usual, her voice trails off.

"Pregnant," finishes Beetee. "I wouldn't worry about it if I were you, Johanna." Everyone chimes in, agreeing with Beetee.

"Okay," I say slowly. "I guess it's nothing to worry about, then."

* * *

A while later, I'm still not worrying. But I'm still in the fucking Capitol.

These Games are so long, it's a record. There're nine tributes left, which is killing the Capitol. They want it to get to final eight, so they can do interview and everything like that. Not one of them realizes that the tributes want these Games to be over soon even more than they do.

I turn on the TV, bored. Immediately, the Hunger Games is on. The boy from District Three is running from a pack of huge, reptilian mutts. He trips over a log and his face turns ashen with terror as the mutts go in for the kill. His cannon booms seconds later.

The broadcast switches to two announcers discussing the Games. "Well, finally we're down to the final eight!" pipes the woman in her stupid Capitol accent. "Yay! I just love this last part of the Games!" Ugh. I hate how cheery they are about children fighting to the death.

"So do I!" the other announcer, a man with a voice pitched almost as high as the woman's. "Now we can bet on the victor, and _probably win!_" Both announcers squeal together. I feel sick. They just saw a fourteen-year-old boy get his heart torn out by mutts, and they're _squealing? _

Correction. They're hugging, laughing, _and _squealing.

I turn off the TV and walk into the dining room for lunch. Blight is there. He grins and pats me on the back. "Hey, Johanna."

"Hey," I mutter, and sit down at the head of the table. Normally, the escort would sit there, but since our tributes are dead, he's left for him home, where he can get drunk and watch the Games with his equally obnoxious friends.

An Avox sets a plate in front of me. It's roasted duck, lying in a nest of vegetables. Suddenly, I feel sick again. Why the hell do I feel sick? Maybe I shouldn't have watched the Games. I must be getting really weak if three minutes of the Games can make me feel like I'm about to be sick.

Blight is eating his meal with gusto, and that makes me feel even more sick for some reason. Maybe I should go lie down. I force myself to take a bite of the meat. I swallow hard. It hurts going down. I take a gulp of water so I won't choke or something. I start coughing immediately after.

Blight raises an eyebrow. "You all right, Johanna?" I nod, but I'm still coughing and I feel bile rising up my throat. Then, to my complete embarrassment, I throw up all over the table.

Fortunately, Blight is there in a second, holding back my hair as I vomit. He shouts to an Avox, "Get Mags, she's on floor four." The Avox leaves immediately. My white shirt is soaked in vomit and it's all over the table. I feel tears of shame and mortification welling in my eyes. I sit there, vomit-covered and crying for a few minutes until Mags comes into the room. She sees me and her raised eyebrows go down.

"Oh, sweetie," she says comfortingly. I'm way too old to be called 'sweetie' but at the moment I don't care. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up." She leads me into the bathroom, where, like a grandmother would, she washes off my face. She strips off my ruined clothes and tosses them into the trash can. She starts bathwater for me.

"I'm sorry," I keep saying. "Really, I am."

"You don't need to be sorry," says Mags. "Don't worry about it, Johanna."

"But I don't even know why I'm sick," I say, sounding pathetic, even to myself. Mags thinks about it for a second. Then she snaps her fingers.

"You must have the stomach flu," she says. "It's spreading here in the Capitol. Of course, they're getting treatment. We'll try to get you some very soon." She smiles at me. "Don't worry, I'm sure that's all it is."

I get in the bathtub. "Yeah, that must be it," I agree.

* * *

**Don't you love suspense? Well, from the summary you can guess what happens next... so, yeah! For those of you that can't, well, I'm not telling you. And PLEASE, younger readers... keep a mature face here for me all right? I don't want a ton of reviews saying that I'm too graphic, or my fanfic is nasty. But I would love some reviews that aren't from my sister, Catching Fireflies. (You will notice I mention her a lot. She's my identical twin, and she always gives me good feedback on my fanfics.) But I would really like some more feedback! Also, please tell me if I should change this to an M. I don't want it to get taken down for being rated too mildly or something. **

**Note for all guys reading this: This is going to get really awkward, so even if you're not young, BE MATURE and KEEP READING! :D**

**Note for all girls reading this: This might be awkward for some of you. Sorry if I get too graphic or anything like that. **

**Note for everyone: I'm already started on the next chapter, so it'll be posted tomorrow! (I know, I can't wait either!) :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to everyone who has favorited, followed, or reviewed my story! I really appreciate it (especially since there's not many of you). They really make my day. (Or morning... whenever I check to see if I've gotten any...) I might have to change the rating of this fanfic to M... read this chapter and tell me what you think, because it would be awful if this got taken down. Like I said earlier, please be mature. Immature people can get annoying. Please review, or tell me if this should be rated M!**

* * *

I still haven't been able to get treatment.

Mags and the others have tried so hard to get me medicine, but their attempt goes unnoticed by the doctors of the Capitol. Meanwhile, my flu just won't go away. I wake up every night at around midnight and am sick until about seven in the morning. I can never sleep then, so I sleep during the day. Mags, the victor with the most medical expertise, tells me that I have the oddest strain of the stomach flu she's ever seen. I've been sick for months now. Everyone who dares to visit me is really relieved they haven't caught it. Mags and Finnick basically live on the District Seven floor with me, cleaning it, making sure I eat at least a little bit. It's odd. Even though I'm very sick, I'm so hungry.

This year's Hunger Games are still going on. There are only five tributes left, and they're stubborn. None of them want to die, so they protect themselves as much as they can, by hiding as far away as they can from the other tributes. None of them want to risk death or injury, so they stay put. The Gamemakers have tried many times to get them together and start a fight, but they've failed utterly. The three deaths of the final eight were all Gamemaker attacks, but since there was four in a row, they've gotten very unpopular with the audience. So the Gamemakers just sit there and do nothing, really.

Finnick walks into my bedroom. "Hey, Johanna," he says, smiling at me. He has a really nice smile, and somehow I always feel a bit better when I see it. "How are you feeling today?" He says the last part in a really bad, mocking Capitol accent. I grin at him.

"I feel fine," I say. "It's messed up. I'm puking for seven hours and then I feel perfectly fine." Finnick raises an eyebrow. "Well, not _totally _fine. I still kind of feel sick. But I'm a lot better."

"That's good," says Finnick, as he replaces my empty water glass with a full one. "I bet you'll feel normal in no time."

Just then, Mags hustles in. She's smiling. Why is she in such a good mood, anyway?

"We can get you treatment!" she says happily.

"What? When?" I demand, sitting up in bed.

"Today!" says Mags. "Right after you eat and get cleaned up." Now I'm smiling too. I finally won't be sick every morning! Finally!

I take a nice, warm shower. But when I'm about to shampoo my hair, a noxious smell hits me. I press the OFF button on the wall of the fancy Capitol shower and try to control my stomach. _You are NOT going to throw up now, Johanna Mason, _I tell myself firmly, swallowing. _Not right before you get treatment. _Thankfully, I keep my breakfast down. I turn the shower on a different cycle with the least smelly stuff, but even then, it smells awful. Not as bad as before, but awful still. I blow-dry my hair, comb out the tangles, and tie it in a high ponytail. I dress in jeans and a short-sleeved, blood-red shirt. I put on a pair of socks, and then my favorite pair of leather boots. I look pretty presentable, for someone that's been sick every morning for a few months.

I walk into the dining room. Mags and Finnick are already there, waiting for me. The Avox sets a plate of salmon in front of me. That smell again. Ugh. I force myself to eat a little bit, but then I can't because it smells too awful.

"Do either of you smell that?" I ask.

"Smell what?" asks Finnick, taking a bite of salmon.

"That really bad smell, like rotting meat or something," I say. For a split second, Mags and Finnick exchange a glance.

Then Mags says, "Well, yes, I believe I do." Finnick, mouth full of fish, nods his agreement. But I can tell they're just humoring me, because Finnick's eyebrows are raised. So are Mags's.

When we are all finished, Mags smiles at me and tells me, "We're going to take the subway there, all right, Johanna?"

"Sure," I say. I've been on the Capitol's subway countless times in my two years as a victor, going to meet potential sponsors, going to banquets and parties. Mags, Finnick, and I take the elevator down to the lobby. An Avox hands us the map to the subway, and we start walking. It's not very long to the subway, and we take the stairs down. We pay for our tickets, and get on. I grab onto a pole, so Mags and Finnick can take the last two seats. Finnick, though, insists on me and Mags being the ones sitting down. Even though I tell him I'll be _fine, _he grabs the pole and sits me down. The subway goes fast, but strangely, I don't feel sick. Mags keeps asking me if I'm feeling all right, but I am.

We get off at the next stop. Finnick and Mags, both polite as ever, thank everyone who made our ride possible, even the Avoxes. The faces of the mute servants light up in happiness. I wonder if anyone ever acknowledges that they're there.

Huge television screens play the very uneventful Games on the sides of buildings. Small crowds sit there in dainty, elegant chairs, painting their nails, small-talking, waiting for action. The streets of the Capitol are always that way during the Games.

We find a tall building, the hospital. I look down at Mags, because she's shorter than me. "A hospital? Is that really necessary?" Finnick grins at me.

"Since you've been sick so long, yeah, it is necessary," he says. "I think the waiting room is on the twentieth floor." Mags checks the map, nods, and we hurry into the elevator. It's slower than the one in the Training Center, and while we work our way upward, I wonder why Finnick is even here. Mags is here because she's legally an adult, but Finnick is only seventeen, and I just turned twenty. I shrug it off. Finnick is a supportive person. He's probably here to make sure that I'm all right.

The elevator doors hiss open and we step out into the waiting room. It is filled with oddly-dressed Capitolians, and their children. Mags, Finnick, and I look very out of place. I scan the crowd. I don't see any of my old 'lovers', fortunately. Us victors sit down by a glass table and wait for my name to be called. The hospital is booked with appointments. Mags was right about the stomach flu. I feel a little bit less out of place.

A green-haired doctor with tattoos of Panem's symbol on the backs of her hands calls out, "Miss Johanna Mason?" Everyone in the room startles at hearing my name and start talking about my Games, about how they've heard that I'm on the market now. I glare at them as Mags and I walk past. Finnick stays in the waiting room. I look back at the last second, hoping for a supportive smile, but to my surprise, he's engaged in conversation with a purple-robed Capitol man. A Gamemaker. I wonder why he's wasting his words on a sadist like that.

I am escorted by the doctor into a completely white room. Mags is to wait outside. She ives me a smile, and I smile back.

"Miss Mason-" starts the Capitol doctor.

"Call me Johanna," I blurt out. I say that to everyone, even if they're from the Capitol. Even President Snow calls me Johanna.

"Well then, Johanna." I hate the way my name sounds in the Capitol's freakish accent. "Let's get some tests done, and then we'll give you the vaccine."

"What's a vaccine?" I ask stupidly. The lady looks shocked.

"A vaccine is... well... it is..." She can't get her stupid Capitol brain to function, apparently, because she moves on as quick as lightening. "That doesn't matter. What matters is getting these tests done. Please stand here." I stand in front of the wall, which has a painted measuring tape on it. She measures me.

"You're a little tall, aren't you?" she says. "Stand on this scale." I do. "You're a little slender for your age, aren't you?"

I grind my teeth together. _"Yes," _I spit out. She doesn't notice my frustration, and simply continues. Blood tests. Hearing tests. Vision tests. Vocal tests. Every test you can think of. They give me a test on how well my reproductive system is working, and the whole time I'm muttering, _"You Capitol motherfucking sluts should know. You buy my body." _The doctor hears and gives me a death glare. When all the tests are done and all my clothes are back on, I am herded out of the room and Mags is herded in. I don't know why. They should be used to seeing the stomach flu by now. They talk for around fifteen minutes. Then they both walk out.

"Follow me, Johanna," says the doctor. Her, Mags, and I walk until we get to another room. The room is simple for the Capitol, with a single glass table and five metal chairs around it.

"Why are we in here?" I ask. "I just have the stomach flu." The looks on both the other women's faces make me add, unsure, "...Right?" The Capitol doctor purses her lips.

"Johanna, have you been getting sick every morning?"

"No," I say. "From midnight to around seven." She nods, and scribbles something down on a notepad.

"Have you been experiencing headaches? Heightened senses? Or..." says the Capitol lady. "You have mood swings?" She looks like she's expecting me to say, yes, yes, and yes. She's just asking for me to confirm her diagnosis.

I open my mouth to reply, but that's when it finally hits me good and hard.

I'm pregnant.

* * *

**Sorry about the really bad cutoff. Well, I hope you liked that chapter. Sorry, it's just going to get more awkward. ...Yeah, this probably should be rated M. You know what, I'm going to go change the rating right now. Anyway, Johanna is pregnant! Poor thing! (I'm reading my stuff over right now and going, 'If I were you, Johanna Mason, I wouldn't have been so stupid. I would've figured it out.') Anyway... that was my longest chapter! 1996 words! I'm so proud of myself.**

**Never mind. My sister told me one of her fanfic's chapters is like, 3892 or something like that. Way to feel downgraded. :(**

**Please review! Thanks for reading, and updates will be around every three days. Sorry if you expected them sooner. I have lots of homework, and I have to sew in class! You would not _believe _how hard it is for me to sew... getting off track. Next chapter in a day or so!**


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm back again, everyone! I update pretty quickly, fortunately for you. This story is basically writing itself at the rate I'm writing. Anyway, on to my author's note. I rated this M because, like I said, MATURE CONTENT, people. Please be helpful and put the 'mature' in 'mature content'. Thanks to everyone that has reviewed, favorited, or followed me or this story. Even if you're reading this right now, give yourself a pat on the back just for being a viewer. **

**Okay, everyone. I MADE A MISTAKE! The prologue for the first chapter was something I forgot to delete. Originally, this story was going to be about victors, and their nightmares, but it evolved into this. So ignore the prologue! Oh, and by the way, I might rename this... what do you think? (The title of this fanfic was also something I forgot to delete...) So please review and answer my question!  
**

* * *

"No," I blurt out. "You have it wrong, I don't have a-" I stop before I can say 'lover'. Technically, I do have a lover. More than one. "No way in hell," I whisper under my breath.

Not only am I pregnant, but I'm pregnant with a Capitol man's kid.

"Johanna, take these pamphlets," says the doctor as kindly as she can. She hands me a stack of pamphlets about pregnancy, abortion, delivery...

"I can't do this," I say. "Any of this." To my horror, a tear drips down my face. It only confirms the doctor's diagnosis. I roughly wipe it away. "I'm nineteen years old, Mags." Getting knocked up before you're twenty is scandalous anywhere in Panem. "And I have to mentor in the Games every year..." I can't finish my sentence. When the Capitol finds out, it's going to be hell. Rumors flying about who the father is. All sorts of horrible things.

"Johanna, honey," says Mags. "Don't worry." My extremely hormonal emotions act up again.

"Don't worry!" I yell at her, repeating her words. "So I should just not worry at all that_ I'm knocked up with a fucking bastard kid_? And that some Capitol guy is the father? I should just be happy about this?" By now, I'm screaming so loud that a crowd is gathered outside the door of the room. "I hate you all! No one gives a damn about me! You only care about yourself!" I scream the last at the Capitol doctor, who looks on the verge of tears. "And you! You only care about..." I don't even know who Mags cares about, so I just scream the first person's name I think of. "... you only care about poor little Finnick, who has to fuck a ton of Capitol people!" I know that what I said about Finnick will get me in a lot of trouble. Mags looks furious. The Capitol woman looks horrified that the secret is out. _"No one cares that I have to get fucked every other day!" _My throat aches. _"It's true! And now I'm going to have a fucking kid! All because of the people that know and don't care!" _

Peacekeepers run into the room, expecting to see a very violent rebel with a gun threatening to shoot someone, since they can't really hear what I'm saying very well. They don't see that. Instead, this is what they see:

First, their eyes alight on the Capitol woman. She is curled up in a ball in the corner of the room, head covered by a clipboard. Her green, curly hair is disheveled. She whimpers occasionally.

Next they see an old woman, in her seventies. She has a disapproving, but slightly pitying look on her face. The Peacekeepers recognize her as Mags, a District Four victor that is off the market.

The next thing that they see is not a person. It is a notepad. On it is scribbled notes. _Patient has morning sickness, headaches, heightened senses, and mood swings. Her friend tells me this has been going on for two months. Said friend also says the father is a Capitol man. _

And then they see a nineteen-year-old girl. She has short, spiky brown hair just long enough to be pulled into a high ponytail. She has huge brown eyes, and slightly tan skin. She is tall and slender, and has a striking appearance. She has her head buried in her arms, and is slumped against a wall. She's crying, and whispering things under her breath. When she whispers, her voice sounds on the brink of crying. Then another round of sobbing overtakes the girl. The Peacekeepers recognize her as Johanna Mason, District Seven's only female victor, who is still on the market.

And, for once in their stupid lives, they put two and two together. They all exchange glances. I'm looking up, glaring at them through my tears.

"You there, get President Snow immediately," barks an older Peacekeeper. A younger one hurries off at top speed. I feel a gun poke my stomach. I think about the baby growing near there and cry even harder. I can't bear to show them my face, because I feel so humiliated. And sick.

"What's this?" asks my least favorite person on the planet. President Snow. I look up. He has a white rose pinned to his suit, and the smell of it makes my stomach churn. "Johanna, please get up." He may as well not have said please, the way he said it was so demanding and cold. I slowly rise, wiping my eyes and nose. "Come here." He beckons to me. I take a step towards him. Another. I feel like a dog being commanded by its master.

President Snow walks out of the room and down the hall. I have no choice but to follow him. When we open the waiting room door, we get gasps and silence. I see myself and Snow in the mirror that covers one of the walls. My face is blotchy, and my eyes are red, bloodshot, and puffy. I look terrible and heartbroken. I stop looking at myself, because I hate seeing myself weak. I follow Snow outside of the hospital. His personal driver is waiting with a limousine. Snow opens the door for me, and I find myself getting in. Snow gets in the passenger seat, and then we're zooming along the streets of the Capitol, cars parting so we can pass through. I try to wipe away my tears. The panic is only now truly setting in.

I am pregnant, and the father neither knows or cares. And the father is a Capitolian. One of _them_. From the sound of it, I'm around three months along. I'm only nineteen, and I have to mentor every year. And I live alone in Victor's Village. And now, the car is stopping in front of Snow's mansion.

My numb legs are stiff as I follow President Snow to the greenhouse. His rose garden. It is hot and humid in the greenhouse, and already I'm sweating. I keep my eyes on the ground as I sit on a bench. President Snow promptly sits on the bench across from me.

"Johanna, I would like to offer my heartiest and sincerest congratulations," he says, but it's not warmly.

"Condolences," I say without thinking.

"Hm?" asks Snow, preoccupied with stroking the petals of a red rose.

"You mean condolences, not congratulations," I say, pricking my finger on a thorn. "This kid isn't because I have a lover. It's because you prostitute me, you motherfucking bastard- you- you-" I'm shaking with anger. Snow stares me down until I feel like a lost little child being reprimanded by their parents.

"Miss Mason," he says sharply. "Control your temper." He never calls me Miss Mason. This isn't good. It's even worse than the usual steely,_ "Well, Johanna, I understand you have been unwilling about the market."_

"Fine," I mutter. I start to cross my arms, but I feel my hands being drawn to my abdomen, where the baby is. I put my hands over it, like I'm protecting the baby. It's all subconsciously, like instinct. Snow notices and raises an eyebrow.

"Well," he says. "You are now off the market."

"I knew that," I can't help but say.

"Quiet when I am talking, Miss Mason," Snow snaps. Then he quickly regains his composure. "As I was saying, you are no longer on the market. After your child is born, you will be again." He goes on to explain that my child will be in the reaping twice the normal time for a non-tesserae-taking child every year, because I am a victor and by doing this I will pay back my sponsors. I will be compliant when I am called in for interviews or anything of the like.

But here's what gets me the most: I have to live in the Capitol until two months after my child is born, no matter if the Games are over.

"What?" I ask. "I live in Seven. Not this hellhole."

"Language, Miss Mason," Snow says. "You do not have a choice in the matter."

"Are you-" I nearly ask if he's serious, but that would be pointless. "...going to tell the dad?"

"That choice is your problem, Miss Mason. And we recommend you do inform him," says Snow. "My driver would be more than happy to drive you to his house now." I clench my fists, ready to fire back a horrible response. But then, my familiar 'why the hell not' reflex kicks in. After all...

"Fine," I say. "I'll tell that him that I'm going to have a bastard kid with him." Snow just raises his eyebrows as I stomp out of the greenhouse. I get into the passenger seat. The driver assumes I agreed to Snow's offer and he starts the car. We speed through the streets until the driver stops in front a lavish Capitol apartment. I get out and slam the door. But suddenly, I'm intimidated by this huge building full of Capitolians. I stand, timid, in front of it, until I remember my Games. Fighting for my life. The taste of blood in my mouth. The constant pain in my body. Surely I can do _this_.

I walk in. I approach a Capitol woman and describe the baby's father to her. She nods enthusiastically and points me to his room. I was here before, but I was too busy worrying about this very thing happening that I forgot the room number. I ride the elevator up, and like in the rose garden, I rub my stomach absentmindedly. Like my hands have magnets in them. When I do that, my shirt smooths down, and then I see it: my stomach, formerly flat, is now protruding slightly. I bite my lip as I think about how horrible it's going to be in the next months.

I knock on the guy's door. His personal Avox opens it. She recognizes me from the whole first-night-getting-fucked-by-a-Capitol-person incident. She points me to the bedroom. I walk right in. The purple-haired Capitolian is sitting on a chair, putting in an earring. He sees me in his mirror. Turns around.

"Oh!" he says in his annoying accent. "What is it you want, Johanna?" My hands are shaking, so I clasp them behind my back. I feel so vulnerable right now.

"I'm off the market," I say to him.

"Why?" he asks. "Surely not-"

"It's your fault," I spit at him. "You got me knocked up." He stares at me, open-mouthed.

"You're nineteen," he says flatly. "It's your problem." And I'm kicked out of the room.

The way back to the Training Center, I cry my eyes out, which is so hideously unlike me even I'm revolted.

I try to get to my room without being spotted by another victor. I'm lucky, or so I think. I don't see any of the others on my way up, but when I get to my room, that's a different story. Everyone, even bitchy Lyme is in there, waiting for me to come back. I step into the room, and am blindsided by Finnick. He gets up swiftly and hugs me long and hard, stroking my hair.

"You can do this, Johanna," he whispers into my ear. I nod, a tear trickling down my cheek. "We're all here for you." He lets go of me and sits me down on my bed. On one side of me sits Finnick, Mags the other. "You're going to be all right."

And for the rest of the night, I sit there, surrounded by my favorite people ever, letting them tuck me into my bed, stroke my hair, kiss my forehead...

Yet, still, I cry.

* * *

**Longest yet! I keep outdoing myself! Sorry about the cutoff. And I keep forgetting to say this, but I don't own the THG trilogy. ****So, yeah. BTW, I'm still not done sewing. Argh! (Never mind...)**

**Sorry that I waited a few days to update. I had to revise this over and over. Because, you know. That's how you write. **

**I know I have a Hunger Games parody up already, but I'm going to do a new one... watch for 'Hungry for the Hunger Games'. (I'm planning on making it have two sequels: 'Eating Seafood' and 'Clockingjay.') Random, I know. You'll get it when you read it.**

**As usual, Anarchy Girl would love some reviews... **


	5. Chapter 5

**So, here I am again with another chapter for you! I have to say, I'm impressed. I checked my traffic stats today and I couldn't believe how many views this story got! Thanks to all of you. **

**MATURE CONTENT, and lots of it coming up. Please be mature, because immature reviews are annoying. I do like reviews with some constructive criticism, though. **

* * *

I wake up at midnight to an uneasy stomach. It's not as bad as usual, but it still keeps me up. All my friends are gone now, anyway. They've gone to their own floors, or they've gone to watch the Games.

I get up to get a glass of water, hoping it will calm my stomach. My bare feet slap against the floor, and I realize I'm going to have to find an Avox. I have no clue where I could, though. Oh well. I'm about to go back to bed when I trip over a pair of feet. I yelp in surprise. I find Finnick, sleeping on a couch.

"Johanna?" he asks. "Oh, damn it. Did I wake you up?" I manage a small smile, because Finnick _does_ snore a little bit.

"No," I say. "I was trying to get a glass of water, because my stomach hurt." Finnick stands up and stretches.

"I'll get you one. Just sit tight," he says. "I'll be-" He only manages that. My stomach heaves violently, and I throw up all over his feet. Finnick herds me into the bathroom as quickly as he can and holds my head over the toilet. My hair, even though it's short, gets vomit in it before Finnick can hold it back. When I'm not sick for a minute or so, I straighten up and wipe off my mouth. I think about myself throwing up all over the floor and Finnick's feet, and, to my shame, I start crying.

"Oh, Johanna," Finnick says softly. "It's all right."

"I got the floor all messy, though," I say. "And you." Finnick shrugs, like this doesn't matter.

"I don't care," he says. "I just want you to feel better. Why don't you take a shower while I get an Avox up here?" I nod dumbly. Finnick washes his hands, and then walks out of the bathroom. I look at myself in the mirror when I'm naked. You can see the small bulge in my stomach. I put my hands on it, and notice something else. Formerly, I had normal-sized breasts, and now, they're a lot bigger. I see myself in a few months, enormous stomach, huge chest, fat. Ugh, I don't even want to think about it.

I get in the shower and wash my hair and body. When I'm putting conditioner in my hair, though, I throw up all over myself and have to clean myself again. I towel-dry myself and step onto the tile. Normally, I sleep stark naked, but right now, I'm so dissatisfied with my appearance I put on a tank top and short cotton shorts. I brush my teeth and rinse out my mouth thoroughly, because the taste of vomit lingered. I step out of the bathroom and walk to my room. I find Finnick in it, making my bed. He sets a bucket beside my bed, a water glass on my nightstand, and a wet washcloth on my forehead.

"Call me if you need anything," he whispers to me. Then, to my surprise, he kisses me on the lips. A long, tender, loving, lingering kiss that implies more than the loyal friend. Finnick breaks away and smiles at me. "Sleep well." Then he leaves me lying in bed, my face hot with embarrassment.

But for once, I can sleep for the rest of the night.

* * *

I shouldn't be too hopeful. After all, Finnick is still on the market. And I'm pregnant with some Capitol guy's child. And Finnick is two years younger than me. And there's this girl in District Four he says he likes. And... oh, everything in the world is screaming at us, "YOU TWO SHOULDN'T BE TOGETHER!" Like I needed to face reality.

Reality is, when you're pregnant, you are never happy. Your emotions are twisted. You look really ugly. You can't help but really, really wanting to get an abortion.

Reality is, when you are a pregnant teenager, everyone stares at you like you're a disgusting whore. The irony is, I _am _a filthy, disgusting whore.

Reality is, when a certain boy from District Four kisses you, you should pass it off as just a friendly gesture.

I roll out of bed and onto the floor. I just lean up against my bed for a second, exhausted completely. I don't feel like walking, much less moving at all. But I have to when I feel morning sickness coming on. I start to strip I walk to the bathroom so my clothes won't get vomit-soaked. But I'm too late. As I try to pull off my shirt, bile spills out of my mouth and onto the floor. I throw up all over the carpet and clap my hand over my mouth as I race for the bathroom. I can feel the vomit creeping up my throat. I burst into the bathroom and run right into none other than a shirtless, still half asleep Finnick Odair. That's when I puke, all over poor Finnick.

I burst into tears for no reason other than embarrassment. I've been having horrible morning sickness lately, and I should've just ran into the bathroom instead of waiting. Stupid feelings. Stupid me altogether.

I start to gag again, and Finnick steers me toward the toilet. He holds my hair back for me, and whispers kind words, but I still am embarrassed out of my mind. This is the second time I've thrown up on Finnick in less than eight hours. Why couldn't I have gotten very, very mild morning sickness? Just my luck.

When it's over, I can't stop apologizing to Finnick. He can't stop telling me that he doesn't care. We just make the whole situation worse, really.

"Finnick, I am so, so, so sorry," I blurt. "Really!"

"Johanna, stop it! It's not your fault!" says Finnick.

"Well, whose fault is it, then?" I spit. "Just say, 'Well, I'm sorry too' in a really rude, mean way and don't talk to me for the rest of the day!"

"Is that what you really want?" asks Finnick. I bite my lip and look down at my hands, which are over my stomach.

"No," I say. "But feel free to." Finnick smiles at me. Then he grimaces.

"I'm going to clean you up, all right?" he asks. "Because you're covered in puke." He laughs, and adds, "Not that I'm one to talk." That makes me smile a bit. Right now, laughing, being his nice self, Finnick doesn't look or seem two years younger than me at all... _Snap out of it!_

"All right," I say. But I definitely don't expect it when Finnick pulls off my shirt. Especially since he knows I'm not wearing anything under it. Reflexively, I try to hide my chest.

"Don't worry," says Finnick. "I'm not going to rape you."

"Not funny," I say, even though I'm smiling a bit.

"Seriously, Johanna," he says. "Stop worrying." And then, as if he's not being surprising enough, he strips completely. "I don't care if you see _me. _You shouldn't care that I'm seeing you."

I have to admit, I _am _staring at him. He _is _really sexy, after all, so why shouldn't I? I drop my arms. For a really embarrassing moment, we're both staring at each other. Then I hear Blight wake up. His usual really loud yawn, and then a shout, "Johanna? Where did you go?" I groan.

"She's in here!" Finnick yells back at Blight.

"Where's here- oh," says Blight. "Oh, all right." I hear him walk toward the dining room.

We keep staring at each other. God, Finnick's so sexy.

Then he snaps us both out of it. "This is really going to make you feel like you're being raped..." he warns me. I laugh. Finnick steps closer to me and tugs down my shorts. For a split second, our chests are touching. Then both of us turn bright red. My shorts slide down to my feet. Finnick finishes stripping me.

"I can get undressed on my own, you know," I tell him.

"I don't want you bending down or something and hurting yourself. Or the kid," says Finnick. Somehow, that really touches me, even though I doubt I could hurt myself or the kid so early on. I just nod as Finnick, still stark naked, starts a warm bath for me. "There, it's warm." I kind of just stand there for a bit.

"You're messier than I am," I point out. Finnick just shrugs. I realize that unless he wants to go into Blight's really messy section of the District Seven floor, there's no other bathroom. "How about you clean up in here first?" Finnick, always trying to me nice, shakes his head. "Are we really going to get into this argument?" Finnick starts to laugh, and after a second, I join him.

"I've got it," says Finnick. "You take a bath. I'll just... I don't know, use the sink?" I smile.

"I doubt you can fit in it, Finnick," I say. "But sure, whatever you want." I get in the tub to the sound of Finnick's laughter. The water feels like silk against my skin, and I love it. I scrub all the vomit off my body, and clean myself up. I drain the water and step out of the tub, my skin light pink and warm to the touch. Finnick's put a clean pair of shorts on, but he's still not wearing a shirt. He's rubbing himself down with a towel. He sees me in the mirror and smiles at me.

"Feel better, Johanna?" he asks, trying to reach a spot on his back.

"Yeah, I guess so," I say, but I'm still embarrassed that I threw up on him. I dry myself off and see that Finnick has laid clean clothes out for me. "I can walk, you know," I tell him, putting on the clothes.

"Admit it, you love me," he says, grinning. I flush beet red. Thankfully, Finnick doesn't notice because my face is red from the bathwater's steam. Also, he's not turned toward me. He's still trying to reach that unreachable spot on his back.

"Here," I say, snatching the damp towel from him. "I'll get it." I've never really noticed that Finnick is taller than me, but I sure notice now. "God, Finnick," I say, standing on the tips of my toes, "how aren't you hitting your head on the ceiling?" He laughs as I scrub his back with the towel. For some reason, I keep noticing how white the towel is against his golden skin...

Dammit, what the hell is _wrong _with me? Why am I suddenly falling for Finnick? It must be because my emotions are completely crazy lately. But why did he kiss me?

"You got it?" he asks.

"Mm-hm." Shit, I meant to say, _"Yeah." _

But then Finnick turns toward me. "Johanna," he says softly.

Something has gone completely wrong in my head. I feel dizzy and why does everything look so bright?

"I really care about you, you know." We're far too close to each other, and it feels unnatural. "I wish this never happened to you." This isn't new. Why is he saying this? "I'm going to do everything I can to make sure you and your child will be safe." We are only about two inches away from each other. Our faces are nearly touching. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, I love you, Johanna."

All I can think of is how nice, caring, and friendly Finnick has always been to me. How he's reassured me through all of this, how he puts up even with me throwing up on him.

"I love you too" is all I can say before he wraps me up in a tight hug. His skin is warm and soft against mine, and very soon, we're kissing, a loving, long, kiss. We're kissing like lovers kiss, like this is the next-best thing, right under making love. And for me, it's even better.

We kiss until we both are gasping for air. Then we just stand there, hugging each other. I feel Finnick's hand caressing my hair. Hear him breathing. Then the mood is ruined when Blight yells, "What the hell are you two _doing _in there?" We break apart as quickly as if he had opened the bathroom door. Finnick smiles at me.

"Guess we should get to your room," he says. As we walk, his hand slips into mine.

Maybe after all, I can get through this. With him.

* * *

**Finnick and Johanna fluff, you have to love it. Don't worry, things will get exciting soon. I promise. It took me a while to work on this chapter, and I am so sorry about that.**

**Is it sad that I'm still not done sewing for school? And the project was due on Wednesday? And right now is Saturday? Yeah, that's pretty sad. **

**As usual, review! I would love some feedback. If you have any opinions on anything, tell me. I would love to hear them, and if you're logged in, I'll respond to them. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Here I am again with a new chapter! I hope you liked my last one. Not as much mature content in this chapter but watch out for the next one. Attention people: lots of Finnick/Johanna fluff! As usual, review! I love getting opinions and will try to respond to your reviews! **

* * *

_A Month Later..._

"Shit!" I scream at the top of my lungs. Finnick comes running in, frantic.

"What is it, Johanna?" he asks hurriedly. "What's wrong?"

"I have a doctor's appointment today," I groan, slumping down on my bed.

"It's for your own good, Jo," he says. "Seriously." I moan again. I know I'm overreacting, but I _hate_ Capitol doctors.

"Easy for you to say," I snap at him. He grins and climbs into my bed beside me. His hand finds mine, and we smile at each other. Then Finnick seems to think of something, because he startles.

"When's your appointment?" he asks me.

"I don't know and I don't care," I say. "Come on. Let me skip it." Finnick drags me out of bed and into the living room. A stack of papers has been thrown carelessly on a coffee table. He picks them up.

"Two'o'clock," he says. He checks the clock. "Oh, dammit, you're half an hour late." Finnick looks me over. "Get dressed in something better." I don't argue. It's not like I want to go out in public wearing my pajamas. I glare at myself in the mirror. I hate the way I look now. A week or two ago, Mags and I went shopping because none of my old clothes fit me. I put on undergarments, a pair of jeans. I look disdainfully at my shirt. Even though I bought it in the maternity section of the store we went to, it's stretched out. I put it on anyway. I turn to the side. My stomach sticks out a lot, and so does my chest. I pull up my shirt so nothing's showing, but it slips back down again. I scowl. Mags tells me that my stomach is unnaturally large for someone in the fifth month of pregnancy. Stupid, stupid kid that I'm having.

I walk out of the bathroom and Finnick and I walk outside. He's hired a driver, who stares at my stomach so long I snap, "Just get us the hell out of here." The man bristles and starts driving us to the maternity hospital.

I think about all the people wanting to know about the father of my child. "Finnick-" I start.

"Don't worry, Jo," he says. "Remember our agreement?" He kisses me full on the mouth.

* * *

_"What am I going to say to them?" I ask Finnick. "The Capitol people, I mean. They're going to be asking who the father is."_

_Finnick smiles at me. "Don't worry," he says. "If they ask, I'll just say that it's me." _

* * *

"Are you sure?" I ask when we break apart. "I mean, I don't want to ruin your life."

For the first time, Finnick's hand rests on my stomach. "Of course I'm sure." The feeling is so pleasant, with Finnick's warm hand against my swollen abdomen, with his other arm around me, that I almost feel happy. Then the car stops.

Finnick untangles himself from me, and pays the driver. We step out of the car and we're bombarded by Capitolians.

"Oh my goodness! It's Finnick Odair! And... Johanna Mason?" The lady saying this lets out a shriek of delight. "And she's pregnant!"

"Yes, _she _is," I snarl. I hate it when people talk about me like I'm not there.

"Who might the father be?" asks another lady.

"Well..." says Finnick slowly. He looks at me like he's a bit ashamed to say it. "That would be me."

So many screams of happiness that I nearly go deaf. Even more when Finnick rubs my stomach affectionately.

"Now if you'll excuse us," he says. "She has an appointment to go to." We walk past the crowd and into the maternity hospital. To my embarrassment, we're the youngest people in there. Finnick pulls me along fearlessly to the desk.

"Oh, Ms. Mason. You're almost an hour late!" says the lady at the desk.

"Sorry," I say, trying to sound sincere. The lady makes an indignant sound and says, "Ah! Is this the father!"

"Yeah," I say. I hope she can't tell that I'm lying.

"Oh, Mr. Odair, why don't you come in too?" she gushes. Finnick nods.

A minute later, my name is called by a doctor with dyed black hair, a silver rose tattoo on her face, and terrifyingly long fingernails. Both Finnick and I get up and follow her to a small room with a metal table in the center. "Please lie down, Johanna." I do. The doctor, whose name tag reads Dr. Redwater, takes off my shirt and I grimace as she pokes at my stomach and prods it. "Are you sure you're not farther along than you think?"

"I'm sure. I had tests done," I tell her. "It's five months and two weeks." She nods.

"Well, I can't confirm this yet, but it looks like you're having twins," Dr. Redwater says.

"What?" I say. One kid is bad enough, but _two? _I'm going to have to deliver _two _babies?

I feel Finnick's hand grasp one of mine. "It's all right, Johanna," he says softly.

"No, it's not," I say.

"Shh," he says. "Save it for later." Only my love for Finnick keeps me from ripping out his throat. I go through several tests, of which some hurt so badly I practically cut off Finnick's circulation, I'm holding his hand so hard. When it's over, I could cry with relief I'm so glad. I put my clothes back on and slide off the table.

"Do you have any questions, Johanna?" asks the doctor, packing away her tools of torture, as I think of them.

"Yes," I say dryly. "Where can I get an abortion?"

"Johanna!" says Finnick. "Don't do that!" I glare at him.

"It's _my _choice," I snap. "I don't want to have kids!" Dr. Redwater stands in an awkward, if heated, silence, before she chirps, "Well, you two work it out later! And Mr. Odair? Do you have any questions?"

"Yes," he says, to my surprise. "Johanna needs to go to classes or something."

"What?" I ask. "I'm right here, you know!"

"She has no clue how to deliver or anything like that," says Finnick, ignoring me. "So make sure she gets to some classes." Dr. Redwater happily gives him a two-inch high stack on pamphlets, which he hands to me. It's all I can do not to rip them apart.

"Anything else?" asks the doctor.

"Yeah," says Finnick. "She's still getting morning sickness. Is that normal?"

"It varies from person to person," says Dr. Redwater. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to go now, it's my break time." Finnick nods politely and he and I walk to the waiting room. We're surrounded by people, but Finnick, though nicely as usual, pushes them aside.

We get into our waiting car in total silence. I'm crumpling the pamphlets in my hands. Finnick is staring at me with a worried expression on his face. We get back to the Training Center, where we are bombarded by prep teams and stylists and escorts.

"What did I miss?" Finnick asks. "What is it?"

"The Games are over!" squeals Finnick's stylist, Scillian. "And your female tribute won!" I think about the girl from Four, now the victor. She was the one that killed Pansy. My shoulders slump, and I feel tears in my eyes. Dammit, I can't wait until I'm not pregnant anymore. I hate being so emotional.

"Oh, Jo," says Finnick, wrapping me close to him. "It's all right. Pansy's in a better place now." Somehow, that makes me start crying, and not prettily at all. Puffy eyes, bloodshot. Splotchy face, tear trails. Gulping and sobbing into Finnick's chest.

While Finnick strokes my hair, he asks his Scillian what he missed. "Well, your girl got bitten by a poisonous snake, a mutt. The other four left, one of them starved. One dehydrated. The others thought they could take on your tribute and she killed them." Finnick nods, still stroking my hair tenderly.

"Come on," he says. "Let's go upstairs." We walk to the elevator. I'm not crying as hard now, fortunately, but I'm still crying. Finnick, instead of wandering off to the couch where he sleeps, comes into my room with me. He faces me, and he looks dead serious.

"Johanna," he says. "Do you realize that now that the Games are over, I'll be going back to District Four?" It hits me. Of course he'll be going back!

"But I can't live here all alone," I say. "I need you." _What you need is to stop getting sentimental,_ I think sternly to myself. I sit down on my bed and try to keep my mouth shut._  
_

"I know," he says softly. "I know, Johanna." He climbs into the bed, sitting beside me. He puts an arm over my shoulders. "That's why I thought I should bring this up now."

Bring what up? All right, we've been together for a few months now. So what? Is he trying to say that he doesn't want to be with me?

"Johanna," he says. He keeps saying my name, and when he says it, it sounds so caring and genuinely loving. "Look at me." I look him straight in his gorgeous, sea-green eyes. "Now look down." He has this smile on his face, a hopeful smile.

My gaze travels downward to his hand not occupied by me and my world shatters.

He's holding a ring. A _ring. _An _engagement ring_.

"Will you marry me, Johanna?" he asks, and for once in his life he actually sound a bit shy.

"Finnick Odair," I say. "I thought you knew me." My tears have dried, I smile at him. "Of course I will."

* * *

**Aw! I feel so great writing this! I love Johanna/Finnick! (I don't like any of their possible ship names) I warned you about the next chapter. Please brace yourself and rent out a bomb shelter (No clue how you could, but whatever...) **

**I'M DONE SEWING, EVERYONE! LET'S THROW A PARTY! (In case you haven't read my other A/Ns, I had a sewing project for school that I was having serious issues with. And now I'm done!)**

**Please review! Sorry for the late-ish update. I would love reviews and if they need an answer from me I will answer them. :) **

**Thanks to Mindmapped123 for reviewing And don't worry, Johanna and Finnick are staying together. I want to thank especially Catching Fireflies and theluckypasta for reviewing more than once! Virtual three-finger salute to you! Of course, if more reviewed, I would be very happy... **


	7. Chapter 7

**I was reading this whole fanfic over and I made a mistake! I said in one of my earlier chapters that Johanna is 20. She isn't! She's 19. Just to clear that up. Sorry about that, everyone. I'm not so good at math. **

* * *

_A few weeks later..._

"Jo, someone's here to see you," says Finnick. His voice sounds strained, like he's trying to warn me.

"All right," I say. I toss aside the pamphlets I was looking at and get up. I stretch for a few seconds. I glance at myself in the mirror. I look horrible. My hair is in a messy knot on my head, I'm wearing sweats, and I'm so damn ugly.

"Hurry," Finnick says cheerfully. Or at least, it sounds cheerful. I guess I can't change. I walk to the door of our small apartment. At it, there's Finnick, a smile on his face. It looks rather forced. And then there's President Snow.

"Hello, Miss Mason. Please take a seat," he says, like this isn't my apartment. Well, me and Finnick's apartment. I sit down on our small couch. Finnick sits beside me. I normally would bring my legs up to my chest, but my stomach is so large I can't. Finnick, kind as ever, wraps an arm around me and sets a hand on my stomach. I smile up at him.

"I've heard you two are to be wed," he says. "Well, well. Congratulations."

"Thank you," says Finnick a little uncertainly.

"I've also heard that there was a mistake regarding the father of Johanna's child," says Snow. "That it is your child, Mr. Odair." He stares at us evenly. "I don't believe a word of it."

All I'm thinking is: _Shit. Shit, shit, SHIT! _

"President-" starts Finnick, but Snow holds up a hand for silence.

"Quite a bit of the Capitol's citizens have their doubts," he says. "And, for you, that is not good at all. In fact," Snow says. "It isn't good for any of us."

"So... what?" I ask. "I tell them all the truth?"

"No, no," he says. "You tell them that Finnick is the father and any other rumors are untrue."

"That'll be easy," I say. "Everyone in the Capitol is as dumb as a rock." Finnick lets out a snort beside me. President Snow glares at us.

"No, don't just convince them," he says.

"Then what?" asks Finnick.

"Convince _me_," he says, before leaving our apartment as quickly as he arrived.

* * *

"Welcome, Finnick! Welcome, Johanna!" says Caesar Flickerman warmly to us. "Very nice clothing, both of you! Your stylists are geniuses."

"Yeah, right," I say. "In my Games, my chariot costume was a fucking tree." The crowd giggles nervously.

"It's all right, Jo," says Finnick. "I've got you." He embraces me, which is getting harder and harder lately. The crowd cheers.

"So, Finnick," says Caesar. "Were you planning to have a child?" He raises a dandelion yellow eyebrow skeptically at Finnick.

"Oh, definitely not," says Finnick. "No, one night, I looked at her, she was so beautiful... I couldn't help myself." The crowd sighs at how in love we are.

"Well," Caesar tells Finnick, "I have another question for you, Finnick. It's about Johanna." I knew this was coming. "I can see you care very, very much for her."

"Of course I do," says Finnick quietly and seriously. "I saw her and I knew that I loved her."

"What did you like when you saw her?" Shit, that was a bad question. I'm blushing, my cheeks bright red.

"Everything," says Finnick simply. "Every single thing." He smiles at me. In this moment, all I want is for what he says to be true, for my child to be ours. But reality comes back and gives me a slap on the face when Caesar repeats,

"_Every single thing._ Finnick, I bet you'll take very good care of her."

"I can take care of myself," I say. I smile at Finnick and I lay my head on his shoulder. The crowd goes wild.

"For sure we know that!" says Caesar warmly. "After your Games, and all. Johanna, are you nervous at all about having children?" The doctors confirmed that I'm having twins, and the Capitol was screaming in happiness.

"Obviously I am," I tell him. "I wasn't expecting this at all, and I really hope everything goes well." There's a round of applause so loud it shakes the walls. Caesar and I wait until it's done, before he asks me,

"When do you plan to get married?"

"Very soon," I say. "The wedding is to be held in President Snow's mansion. It's next Tuesday." The crowd cheers.

"Can't wait to see you there!" says Caesar, who knows that kind-hearted Finnick will insist on inviting him.

"Same here, Caesar," I say as Finnick's hands go over my stomach again.

* * *

"Finnick?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't feel good."

"Come on, then."

He leads me quickly to the bathroom, but the feeling of nausea passes. I still have my head over the toilet just in case. Five minutes passes.

"I guess you're all right for now," says Finnick, leading me back to our room. Our bed is large, but we always sleep close to each other. I snuggle up against him. Suddenly, I feel a hard jab in my stomach.

"Finnick!" I say, surprised.

"What is it?" Finnick asks, moving closer to me.

"The baby just kicked," I say, moving one of his hands until it's on my bare stomach. Sure, the baby's kicked before, but this time, Finnick can probably feel it when he's touching my stomach. We wait. Then it kicks again. Finnick and I smile at each other and lie back down. Finnick pulls me in and kisses me long and hard.

"I can't wait until the wedding," he says against my lips.

"I know," I say. I let out a sigh, for once of pleasure. Finnick and I break apart, but his hands don't come off my stomach for a few minutes. After they do, they work their way up my torso until they find my naked chest. Finnick's soft, warm hands cup my overlarge breasts and he strokes my skin. It's the best feeling ever. Even though I know this isn't going to build up to any fucking, because I'm pregnant, Finnick's kissing my collarbone and making his way to my chest. I sigh against him, his lips on me still.

"I love you so much, Johanna," says Finnick, who now is massaging my chest. I let out another happy sigh.

"I love you too."

* * *

"Jo," says Finnick when I wake. He's still hugging me. "Will you answer the door?"

"Do I have to?" I say into his chest. "It's two in the morning."

"It's _ten _in the morning," he corrects. "You sleep late." I grin and get up. I realize I'm still naked and that I feel sick.

"Oh shit, Finnick, just go," I say, because my stomach is churning. I speed-walk to the bathroom, open the toilet, and throw up. When it's over, I straighten up, gulping for air, the sickly smell of vomit invading my nose. None is in my hair, thankfully. I flush the mess down and rinse out my mouth. I spit in the sink and walk back to our room. I put on underclothes, a shirt, and sweatpants and socks. I trod out into the hallway, tying my hair in a high ponytail. As usual, some of it falls out of the tight hairband and gets in my face. I tuck my hair behind my ear and walk to the door. I really hope it's not President Snow.

Instead, I'm greeted by a crowd of victors. Every single living victor. Even the ones that I'm not sure of their name. Grinning, holding huge suitcases, cramming into the hall outside of the apartment.

"What?" I ask. I'm scanning the crowd for her but I don't see her.

"We got Snow to let us come back," says Seeder quietly. Where could she be?

"We showed him, didn't we?" says Lyme proudly. Everyone starts talking at once, and Finnick shushes them. Because both he and I notice something that can't mean anything good.

Mags is gone.

"Guys?" asks Finnick. He is greeted with somber faces. "Where is she?" his voice is scared an nervous. "What happened to her?"

"Uh, Odair," says Brutus uncomfortably. "She's in the hospital."

"What?" says Finnick, his face looking like a scared little boy's. "What's wrong?"

"She had a heart attack," says Haymitch bluntly. He rubs the back of his neck. "To be honest, Finnick... it was pretty bad."

One one thousand. Two one thousand. Three one thousand.

That's all it takes -three seconds- for Finnick to burst into tears.

* * *

"Mags?" asks Finnick, one of his golden hands smoothing down her soft, snow-white hair. "Can you hear me?" Obviously she can't. But Finnick talks to her anyway. "Well, tomorrow is Johanna and I's wedding." Finnick takes a deep, shuddering breath and closes his eyes for a second. "I wish you could be there." Tears run down his heartbroken face. "Don't give up yet, Mags. We all need you."

He wipes the tears off his face. I can't hear what he says next to Mags, because it's so quiet I can't hear it through the flimsy glass door. Finnick stands up, looks back at Mags, and whispers, "You're too strong to give up."

The door opens and Finnick walks out. "Your turn, Jo," he says softly, hugging me.

"Are you sure we shouldn't postpone the wedding?" I blurt out. "I mean, I'm six months and one week pregnant, and Mags is in the hospital." Finnick looks startled.

"No, Johanna," he says. "It has to be tomorrow." He grips my shoulders, with the most serious expression on his face. "We'll talk later, all right?" He kisses me tenderly on the mouth and I find myself not as angry as I expected.

"All right," I say. I open the shining glass door. My feet plod toward Mag's cot. When I'm about a foot away from her, I freeze up. Something about hospitals always has scared me. All those Capitol people looking so somber for once as someone dies. All the machines. The noises.

Right now, the nurse is in her small station next to Mag's room. At least she's gone, but there're so many machines attached to Mags. A needle is sticking in her right arm at the crook of her elbow. I want to pull it out. I'm so scared that the motherfucking, evil Capitol is going to maim Mags while she's vulnerable. Or even kill her. They nearly did when she won the Games, after all. Who's to say they won't now?

I sit in a chair by Mag's cot. Feeling stupid, I say, "Hey, Mags. It's Johanna Mason." I pause and look at her blank, wrinkled face. I grit my teeth. She looks so dead. _She's not dead, Johanna! _I silently scream at myself. But she looks like it. _Calm down. You're only scared because you've seen so many dead people._ I know that I might hurt Mags somehow, but I open her eyes. They're cloudy sea-green, with a creamy coat over the vibrant color. She looks so dead! That's how dead people's eyes look!

I let do of her eyelids and press my fingers against my temples. I let out a breath. I'm trying to calm myself down. Slowly, it works.

"Mags, if you can hear me," I begin. I think about what she might be able to do. "Blink your eyes." It's the most simple thing I can think of. I wait.

Her eyes stay closed.

Disappointment washes over me like a bucket of ice water poured over my head. Why did I even bother? She can't hear me. She had a heart attack, for fuck's sake. I'm expecting too much. "Well, see you, Mags. You can pull through this." I get up to leave.

But just then, slowly, she blinks.

* * *

"There," says my stylist, Zinnia. "Do you look all right?"

"I don't know," I say dully. "Do I?"

"Of course you do!" Zinnia exclaims, her turquoise hair bouncing as she bobs her head. "See, the sea-green will match both Finnick's outfit and his eyes! And the white will look just perfect!" She hugs me, and I cross my arms. "Oh, I can't believe it! Johanna, you're actually getting married!"

Maybe I gave the Capitol too much credit, thinking they had brains. They must not if they're _that _stupid.

* * *

Finnick waits at one side of the stage. He's wearing black pants, a black jacket, and black shoes, but his dress shirt is sea green. We match perfectly.

The look in his eyes is purely beautiful. Even though my child is not ours, even though we never planned on falling in love, we _do _love each other. Finnick looks like he's waiting for something. His face breaks into a gorgeous smile when he sees me, and we both ditch the formalities.

We run at each other -I'm wearing white flats, so I won't fall and hurt the baby- and Finnick embraces me gently. "I love you," I let myself say. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Rudely, Lyme comes up behind me and pulls me off Finnick. "Get married already," she snaps. "I can't wait to get out of this fucking dress." Somehow, she voices my thoughts exactly. For once, I laugh with her. She gets this pleased smile on her face and looks happy for once.

"Yeah, what Lyme said," chimes in Brutus. I'm starting to wish we'd picked someone else to be a ring bearer. And I wish we'd picked a different bridesmaid. Brutus, the ring bearer, has already flipped off President Snow. Lyme, the bridesmaid, has just pulled apart the nearly-wed couple.

"Fine with me," says Finnick. He slips the emerald ring onto my finger, and we kiss. The Capitol is beside themselves. When we break apart, I whisper,

"I promise I'll never leave you."

I have this warm feeling inside of me. I'm married to Finnick Odair. And I have this feeling that I will never go back on my promise.

* * *

**I am so sorry about the long wait for this chapter! I had to revise it over and over. No flames about the wedding, please. It's meant to be a quick, nontraditional thing. Also, you know how Mags talks weird? When she recovers from her heart attack (yes, she will recover) she will talk that way.**

**Anyway, in case you didn't catch that, the victors moved into the Capitol to support Johanna! You're going to hear more about them in the next chapter. Stay tuned to find more out about the rebellion!**


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